


Some nasty ficlets

by TheHuskyDragon



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: ... but with blood, Anal Sex, And Then Some, Blood, Blood Kink, Coming Untouched, Dacryphilia, Debatable Beastiality, Deepthroating, Double Anal Penetration, Double Penetration, Emetophilia, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Snowballing, So many tentacles, Tentacles, Thoughts of being gored by tentacles, Touching, Trans Character, Vaginal Sex, Vomiting, Wishing for death but like... in a “Higgs” way, but it’s chiral matter so..., higgs being gross, mild guro?, sam being his usual embarrassed self, we have finally gotten to the Nasty, wound licking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-19 10:34:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22042843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHuskyDragon/pseuds/TheHuskyDragon
Summary: This is where imma post various lil fics where i just  go full nasty on Higgs. Perhaps not for the faint of heart
Relationships: Higgs Monaghan/Clifford Unger, Higgs/ his lion bt, Sam Porter Bridges/Higgs Monaghan, Sam Porter Bridges/Mama
Comments: 14
Kudos: 103





	1. Higgs/Mekal

**Author's Note:**

> K so this takes place sooomewhere in my fic. Higgs’ lion bt is named Mekal and is roughly the size of a normal lion here
> 
> Tags for this chapter: tentacles, debatable beastiality bc Higgs n Mekal are connected through fictional magic. Wishes to be fired by said tentacles, etc

Higgs was shameless.  _ He _ knew it, almost everyone that knew him knew it. It wasn’t too new. Not surprising. 

So when he found himself half naked on his back, certainly not for the first time, he wondered how people would react. Would they laugh at seeing his limbs bounded by tar tentacles? Would they sigh in disappointment at seeing the welts left by Mekal’s massive paws? He wasn’t even fully grown again yet…

A tentacle pulls his pants further down so hard he hears threads break. He really can’t  _ fucking _ move and it kinda sucks. He’s half hard already at thinking what Mekal will choose to do to him. Not like it’d be a surprise, everything Mekal does is something he’d do to himself; they’re  _ connected _ after all. 

He twitches involuntarily when he feels cold slick trace up the back of his thigh. He sighs and relaxes a moment later. Mekal lets out a pleased rumble, something that couldn’t possibly be called a purr, but satisfied nonetheless. 

A tendril lifts his leg for him as a thick tentacle is pressed into him. A moan is choked out of him before he can stop himself. It stretches him painfully. He wasn’t and probably won’t be prepared enough for Mekal. He never  _ is _ . They’re both far too impatient. 

Not that Higgs minds, he thinks as the tentacle thrusts deeper. His cock, hard and leaking on his stomach, bobs with the sudden movement. If anything, he  _ prefers _ to be underprepared, perhaps only in these situations though. 

The loud, slick sounds of tar fill the empty space around them. Mekal’s growls and Higgs’ own moans add to the background. The lion’s mask clicked together in pleasure. Tears stung Higgs eyes still from the intrusion. Mekal has few cares though, and began thrusting the tentacle, setting a brutal pace to begin with. Pleasure rocketed through Higgs unbound, almost too much as he choked and clenches around the limb inside of him

It wasn’t enough, though. Both of them  _ knew _ he could take more, want more. Higgs always wants more than his body can take. He’s never truly satisfied, even when the tentacles stretch him to breaking, until there’s blood and tar coming out where it shouldn’t be. 

A second tentacle, barely any thinner, pressed against where he was already stuffed  _ so full. _ It pressed, insistent and  _ bossy _ , into him with a squelch. 

“ _ Fuck _ !” He yelped, breathless as pain shocked you his spine. His bound limbs,  _ still _ fucking immovable, stained black and shiny from the tar. Slick tracked down his thighs in thick streams. No matter how viscous the tar was, or how much there was, the double penetration felt too dry and he winced as uncomfortable fullness pulsed through his guts. 

The two tentacles, still ruthless in their rhythm, press deeper,  _ harder _ in every thrust. Going deeper than anything had the right to in a human. Deep enough for him to gag on nothing. His cock, nearly purpling now from being ignored, is tracking messy lines along his stomach, pre mixing with the thin traces of tar there. 

Tears stream down the sides of his face as Mekal continues, taking pleasure from him. Higgs would never stop him— not that he could anyway. 

He screams when a third, thick tentacle forces its way into him; so unexpectedly, so painfully. He comes despite himself and his eyes roll back as horrible pleasure bursts stars behind his eyes. His throat aches when the tentacles don’t  _ fucking stop _ and he’s so overstimulated. So wrung out he doesn’t think he has any more in him. 

Not that Mekal  _ cared _ . His own hoarse voice is unheard over Mekal’s yowl of pleasure. Higgs wonders what he gets out of this. Does he actually feel the mane of tentacles like that? Can the lion feel how he clenched so tight around him?

The overstimulation is bright in his mind, and it’s amplified both from being connected to Mekal and from the tentacles’ pace. Each thrust knocks a noise out of him— be it a moan or yelp or gasp. The tentacles in him are so thick that when he looks down, he can see them press against the spasming muscles of his stomach. 

He’s not even hard yet, but the sight of almost being able to see each tentacle from the outside could make him come again, he’s sure of it. He’s seen this  _ exact scenario _ dozens of times before, yet every time it makes him almost go insane, makes him want to see how many he can fit in him till the rough pace and fullness cause the thin skin to split open. 

He’s only been lucky enough for that to happen a few times. Me mainly just  _ doesn’t _ have the time to die for a while anymore. That, and he doesn’t want pressing questions on why he has more and more stencils marking his skin like scars. 

He can’t complain much when the tentacles give him so much  _ pleasure _ , so much satisfaction that he can barely breathe or see behind the explosion of stars or when his eyes roll back. He can’t take it but wants  _ more _ and  _ more  _ till it'll make him go insane in a whole new way. 

Higgs bucks his hips, then screams again, coming out strangled, when the tentacles ran into something so  _ sensitive _ . It makes his whole body twitch, helpless to do anything but jack his hips up again. To feel pain so pleasurable. He still can’t fucking move, but he’d be clutching at any part of Mekal as he could. In futile hopes of grounding himself. 

A sob racks its way through his body. Eyes leaking just as much as his hard cock was. He feels more slick, cold tendrils poke at his stuffed, stretched hole. There’s no way they can fit in him, just no  _ way _ at the moment but he can dream. Think of how it’ll feel with the tentacles already splitting him open. He’s probably already torn, which is a  _ shame _ , porting is gonna be difficult for a while. 

His lungs ache when his intestines are being fucking  _ rearanged _ inside of him. Oh how he wishes for Mekal to be able to speak, to insult him,  _ humiliate _ him for even  _ wanting _ this at all. Instead the beast growls and roars. Mask twitching and clacking like he wants to consume Higgs. Not that that’s possible, but a beast can still want just the same as his master. 

Higgs thighs tremble and— oh, he could come again. Completely untouched like this. His teeth chatter as he attempts to speak to his lion. 

“Mm—make me…  _ come, _ already.”

Impatience that’s doubled through a feedback loop, Mekal lands a huge paw down on his chest, his face looming dangerously over him like a warning. 

And now he can’t  _ breathe _ . Claws digging where they’re planted hard into his skin. Not hard enough to break skin but tar tracks on his chest just the same. He can feel how in the deepest thrusts, his skin just barely presses against the heel of the beast’s paw. How the paw flexes and the claws press into him more when pleasure is shared equally between them. He can only let in small gasps of wonderful oxygen with Mekal on him like this. 

Mekal leans down until his mask is inches from Higgs’ face. Something  _ sparks _ , and suddenly his breathe is stolen from him, his lungs frantic when they sputter. He nearly chokes, gags anew when he comes so hard he swears he blacks out for a moment. Sparks of  _ god- _ knows-what flows from his head down his spine. So fast and sudden and unexpected that goosebumps prickle his skin. 

The tendrils holding him tighten so much more, until he knows he’ll be bruised and aching. It feels like Higgs’ bones creak at the pressure as  _ something _ happens to Mekal too, as he presses so deep one last time. 

When he’s released and the paw lifts off, he rolls off to spit out a mouthful of saliva. He feels the horrible amounts of tar pour out of him where his gaping. 

His breath heaves as he attempts to collect it. His arms and legs numb, fingertips blue from being held so tight. His cock and pelvis sting with wonderful pleasing pain. His eyelids heavy with exhaustion as spittle and tar and tears dirty his cheeks and chin. When he looks down he sees the puddle of spit on the ground below him is red.


	2. Higgs/Sam; wound... licking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a healing stab wound and Higgs wants 👏 to👏 LICC
> 
> Tags: blood, slight guro? Dubious consent but mostly constented thru fanfic magic, snowballing blood, dacryphilia, possesive behavior, the whole shebang
> 
> Takes place after the most recent chapter of “we’re all going forwards” but Higgs actually gets what he wants... otherwise plotless bc idk what happens after this lmao

Higgs presses his fingers into Sam’s wound. Just as he dreamt, Sam’s breath hitches, his mouth twitches. Higgs runs his fingers tips against the hot flesh, feels the thin wire that holds the wound together. 

Higgs crawls his way down Sam’s frame until he’s level with his focus. The porter is on his back, which is… unfortunate. It’s a shame he was stabbed in such an awkward spot. 

Well, Higgs isn’t going to waste a perfectly good wound. Before Sam could ask Higgs what he has doing, Higgs sticks his tongue out and licks along the skin. 

Higgs lets out a breathy moan. Already feeling himself get harder. 

“Higgs,” Sam hisses, “the  _ fuck _ you doing?”

“Oh don’t mind me, Sammy. Just having a little fun.” He says, licking again. This time, he presses his tongue harder against him. Sam tried to wriggle in vain away from him. Higgs holds him close tight, pressing him against the bed while tangling his legs with his own. 

“Let me go, goddamn it. You’re so gross,”

Higgs hums in fake-consideration. “No,”

He gently scrapes his teeth against the raised flesh, just a ghost feeling. Sam jumps beneath his touch. Intoxicatingly, Higgs can feel goosebumps raise. 

“That hurts,” Sam tries again. 

“I know.”

He thumbs at the edge of the reddening skin, presses in, just to see it get  _ redder _ , see it get wetter at the edges. It’s going to turn to a nasty scar. It keeps opening if he moves too much. Higgs can see dusty, dried blood around the sutures, in the wound. It’s diagonal from how the knife had broken the skin, jagged in some edges that had healed faster than others. 

Higgs continues licking until the wound is wet with his saliva. He drags his teeth, feels the stitches bump against it. With the topmost stitch between his teeth, he pulls.  _ Pulls _ until he can smell blood and Sam tries to pull him away. “It’s fine,” he drawls at Sam, feeling himself get lightheaded. “Don’t worry,”

“You-you’re ripping out the damn stitches.”

“Sure am,” his teeth clack against the end of the wire still in his mouth. He moves to the loop before, then the one before  _ that _ before he begins again. He tugs, carefully as to not let the wire slip between his teeth. Higgs tries not to salivate too much,  _ really _ . The smell and taste of Sam’s blood is just so…  _ tantalizing _ . His breath becomes shallow upon hearing the little noises Sam tries to stifle. Hopefully soon, he won’t even be able to do that. 

The sutures come loose, and with it, a hearty trickle of blood. Higgs breathes in and shudders, digging his fingers into Sam’s pliable skin wherever he can. He smells  _ wonderful _ . The distinctive sharp, coppery tang all too familiar. But with it, he can smell—  _ taste _ chiralium and DOOMS and  _ Sam _ . It’s frankly ridiculous, how wonderful he smells to Higgs. 

He lets go of the thread— he’ll pick it back up again later, he’s only half way through— and drags the flat of his tongue against the thin blood that had pooled and dripped. He moans, mouth still open, as the fluid hits his taste buds.  _ Fuck _ . It’s better than he could’ve imagined. Higgs closes his eyes as he savors the feeling. His blood certainly is sharp,  _ literally _ . It feels like it’ll eat away at his tongue. 

Higgs  _ wants _ it to, wants Sam’s blood to burn his skin, corrode his tongue and gums. Wants Sam’s blood to mark him like that, mix with his own. 

He feels himself leaking in his underwear, still fully clothed. He’s rock  _ fucking _ hard and he hasn’t even touched himself. He feels his legs quiver, still tangled in Sam’s, and his are shaking too. Higgs ruts shamelessly against Sam’s leg, like some desperate dog. And maybe he is one, willing to do anything for Sam’s addictive blood. No wonder BTs fuck off to the afterlife after one of Sam’s blood grenades, they’re so content and satisfied after getting a  _ red shower _ from the one and only  _ Sam Porter Bridges.  _

“You’re fucking—insane. For getting off on this sh _ —shit _ ,” Sam says. His breathing is heavily labored, still shaking with the rest of his body. 

Higgs has come to terms with being  _ fucking insane _ , as he’d so well put it. He was a fucking terrorist after all— if he didn’t want to go after his own men, he could always terrorize some low-life MULE. He always hated them anyway, so letting Mekal demolish a camp but leaving a few for him… it gave him his fix. Of both his sadism and some BT energy. 

Leaving the camp to become a crater was also fun too. 

But he can’t do that now, which is  _ bullshit _ . The closest thing he has is this… attempting to tongue deeper into Sam’s wound. 

He pulls back to lick his lips and examine his work. More of the suture has come loose and the wound has opened up more. The area around the injury was an angry red, the edges outlined with blood stains. Oh how he wants to fuck the wound… but he knows that’s going too far with Sam, he  _ definitely _ won’t like it, and at this moment Sam’s all he has to stay in Bridges. 

But he can lick at the wound.  _ That _ can’t be going too far. 

He removes the rest of the wire with his fingers. Seeing the skin contort and stretch with the movement… it could drive lesser men mad. Higgs wasn’t too far off. He had to keep his eyes focus and make sure his hands kept steady. More times than not, he found his breaths quick and heavy. 

The pink skin inside of the wound was shiny with what-else. Smooth even in the places that had already healed, and then been torn back open. It’s really not  _ that _ deep, unfortunately, but Sam probably also wouldn’t like Higgs cutting him back open. Maybe he can get Sam to do that to him… that would be so  _ fun _ . 

But he’s here and experiencing this now. 

Thin blood was quickly leaking out of the wound and Higgs wasted no time in lapping it up. He was sweet and spicy together, in the most  _ delectable _ of ways. It traveled down his throat hotly like liquor. Heated up his face like a fire. But also tasted sweeter than any candy, but just as addictive as chiralium. It’s odd how he can taste chiralium in his blood with how low his DOOMS is. Even at Higgs’ level he thought it’d be harder to taste. 

Not that he’s complaining. He’s impatient for more blood when his tongue is faster than Sam’s blood flow. So, what he does to solve this problem, is to sink his teeth into the red, inflamed flesh of one side of the wound. 

Sam  _ howls _ . The sound ringing through Higgs’ ears like music. Music he wants  _ more _ of, a  _ whole orchestra  _ of. His blood seeps between his teeth, into his mouth, against his gums and lips. Higgs really is drooling now, spit mixing with his blood, dripping down his chin. 

He hears Sam sob above him, so very softly. When he looks up—  _ fuck _ . Isn’t it a sight for sore eyes. 

Sam has his lip between his teeth. His eyes shut tight closed and his brows creased. Higgs can tell that he’s in pain, wonderful, hot,  _ searing _ pain. His face looks strangely pale and he’s sweating at his temples. Strands of coarse hair stick to his forehead. 

He’s  _ crying _ . His cheeks are wet with his tears. 

Higgs moans, biting his own lip as to stifle himself. He rounds his hips against Sam, feels how he’s partially hard too. He’s so  _ close _ . 

He lowers himself back down. Higgs holds open the oozing wound with his thumb which is, too, soon coated in his blood. It tingles ever so slightly there  _ too _ . This time, Higgs straight-up sticks as much of his tongue as deep as it can go. Sam lets out a strangled groan this time, and Higgs doesn’t swallow the blood that leaks into his mouth. It’s thicker now, more rich of a taste. 

He sits up, letting the mixture of fluids drip from his lip as he smiles wickedly at Sam. Sam blinks up at him, eyes still wet and face contorted in pain. Higgs crawls up until he’s level with Sam’s face again.  _ Here _ he leans down and presses their lips together. Sam tries his best to pull away, but it’s useless. Higgs is  _ determined _ . He wrenches open Sam’s mouth by yanking apart his jaw. Soon enough, his lips part, and so do Higgs’ own. He’s letting out noises of protest. Higgs knows  _ exactly _ when he tastes his own blood. When he stills for a moment, stops breathing, and then begins  _ again _ in trying to get away. Higgs holds his head tight in his grip, watching as best he can as Sam’s face turns angry and he cries more. Seeing his eyelashes clump together, his skin shine from the tears… Higgs sighs into the bloody kiss. 

He spends a moment more licking as much of the inside of Sam’s mouth as he can,  _ coating _ it in his saliva and Sam’s own blood. Eventually he pulls back, though, and—

Seeing Sam with a red, blood coated mouth, face flushed now—to  _ his ears! _ — eyes wet with multiple tear tracks… knowing he  _ did this _ to Sam, caused him this discomfort and pain and— and  _ fed him back  _ his own blood. The red fluid coating his lips and chin and where Higgs hand been holding his face—

Higgs thrusts his groin against Sam’s own still hard cock and cums. Moaning loudly at how the pleasure washes over him, trembling all the while. He’s still fully clothed, cuming  _ right _ into his underwear and against Sam. His eyes roll back as he licks his bottom lip, tastes and  _ feels _ what blood was still there. He continues to round his hips till he’s soft, till it hurts with overstimulation. 

  
  


Sam’s wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he says, “you’re fucking disgusting. You know that?”

Higgs smiles. 


	3. Trans!Higgs/tentacles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags: tentacles, double(and more) penetration in both holes, stomach distention. Cum inflation but with tar? Arguably dubcon as higgs doesn’t give formal consent, but doesnt Not want what happens
> 
> Words relating to Higgs’ genitalia: hole, cock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY for not uploading last week!!! This week won’t have an upload either BUT PLEASE take this porn

If Higgs has his scanner, he would’ve noticed. 

Noticed  _ what _ , you ask? Well, the growing tar puddle under his feet, that is. You see, he can hear the moans and groans of the dead just  _ fine _ normally, but these damn  _ fucking _ headphones blocked the sound. The tar wasn’t even that different from the muddy ground he’d been walking on. 

Only when a hand— no a tentacle coiled it’s grip around his ankle did he notice. 

He doesn’t have his BB. Or his quipus. Only his mask though that does  _ shit _ . He has fucking nothing so he can’t control these fuckers, not any more than that Bridges bitch he gave the nuke to. His tattooed eyebrows raise under the cap as he tugs his boot. 

…

Hm…

If he can just  _ get— _ his leg—  _ free _ . 

Every time he tugs, the tentacle—not too thick or big— coils tighter, slithers higher up his leg. His immediate response is  _ well shit. _ Before quickly turning to  _ well shit! _

He anchors his other leg on the ground, basically useless with the slippery substance, and heaves his body weight out of the dead’s clutch. 

What the tentacle  _ does _ , of fucking course, is yank his leg, so he just fucking  _ slips _ and  _ falls _ on his  _ face like a fucking idiot. _ He sees more tendrils, dripping with tar and sparking with chiralium, emerge from the goop. 

“The hell you doing!?” He demands, appalled at their actions. He’s answered by his own damn arms and other leg being wrapped up by the tentacles, even the damn BTs too, until he’s bound and on his back. “It’s me, you idiots! Let me go!”

He tries to yank his arms free, feeling like a child in a tantrum. He’s sweating at the brow, unused to having so little control. He takes off his pod and his quipus  _ one fucking time! _

He manages to bite into one of the tendrils around his arm. That does fuck all but spurt rancid liquid tar into his mouth. He’s so caught off guard he goes otherwise limp and coughs harshly. He’s spitting out the remainder of what’s in his mouth along with a helping of drool too. 

Higgs’ body  _ burns _ under the stupid fucking Bridges uniform in all the wrong ways. the tentacles bounding him feel like they’re coiling around his nerves, lighting them on fire. He yells at them to let him  _ fucking go. _ The hell are they doing anyway? He never—taught them to go after any porters, not like  _ this _ . It’d barely been raining in the first place, let alone he would’ve noticed the BTs anyway. 

What the  _ fuck _ . 

Well… they don’t seem to be trying to bring him under. Maybe this’ll turn for the better. Might as well ride it out. 

_ Riding it out _ turns to the tentacles hoisting his hips and legs in the air, tightening around his legs. He can’t move from the spot.  _ Ohh-kay _ . That’s fine. Not sure what the fuck they’re doing. 

As if reading his mind, they supply him with one tentacle bunching itself in the water-proof fabric of his groin and  _ yanking _ . Tearing the material until his crotch was free to the frigid air. 

Luckily he was under an overpass, safe from the damn rain. 

“What the  _ FUCK _ ,” is how he responds, shaking his entire form trying to get free. If anyone sees— he’ll never live this shit down. He’s not too far from the camp either. Fuck.  _ Fuck _ ! What the fuck are these fools  _ doing _ ? Normally he wouldn’t mind, but so unprompted?

He feels himself grow wet. Traitorous bastard, conditioned like a Pavlovian dog whenever he feels tentacles or the BTs’ grip on him. He’s able to yank his arm up but is stopped before it gets anywhere useful. Higgs tries to cover up, do  _ anything _ but his limbs are tightened around again. More on his arms, thicker on his legs. 

He can just barely see a tentacle rise up from past his hips. He knows what that fucker is planning. Of course,  _ like always,  _ he’s right. Not a moment later, he feels cool slick at his asshole before the tentacle plunges in. 

His body racks with a yell. It fucking  _ hurt _ , even if the tendril wasn’t big; so suddenly being inserted  _ burnt _ . He trembles, breathe heavy. Only seconds later does the tentacle begin moving. The slick helps greatly, only his tightness halting the movement. It goes deep, deeper still. The painful near-pleasure tightens his abdomen muscles and makes him grunt. After what feels like a lifetime, after his gut spasms with cramps does it pull back, starting up an even rhythm. 

Higgs sighs hard. His expression is tight. It’s not… hard to succumb to the pace, find satisfaction in it. Not like it ever is. If none of his boys are available to fuck him, he can always rely on the BTs. His lion even. But he’s always in control, or at least has the  _ option _ . Here he’s completely at their mercy. Why they’d want to fuck him unprompted is beyond him. 

Well… he can’t find it in him to care. He feels thin rivulets of tar track down his body. It tickles the fine hairs on his back and belly, pools by his belly button under the uniform. He’s already soaked the back of his neck and head in the tar. 

Another tentacle rounds it’s way up his abdomen to his hip. Eventually it wriggles his way next to the first one.  _ Totally _ as if he wouldn’t rather have it  _ somewhere else!  _

The  _ audacity _ of these things, Higgs thinks. He rolls his hips, feeling the twinges of pain as he’s stretched further. He doesn’t stop wriggling, not even when the tentacles around him tighten. Tighten so tight he can’t feel his fingertips. 

He manages to kick one of the tentacles inside him, jamming the heel of his boot into muscle-like substance. It jostles the thing, and in the next thrust in, it’s  _ brutally _ hard. Right where it counts. Higgs yells, curls in on himself even though he  _ can’t move _ . The tentacles keep with the change, thrusting so hard, so deep into him. 

He can hear his moans so loud with the headphones on it’s  _ deafening _ . Was he always so loud? Like some yowling cat in heat?

Higgs begins to tremble. He's not sure whether it’s the blood rushing in his ears or the pouring rain not too far away. The complaints of the BTs holding him mix with his own. He rolls his hips again. He’s so unused to not being able to grind himself down on anything, clenching around nothing in his hole. His cock pulses, begs for friction. 

Finally his wishes are granted. A third tentacle comes from behind and slides it’s way into his previously empty hole. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” he hisses, feeling the way his stomach bulges the slightest bit at the thicker tentacle. “ _ Finally _ , cmon. fucking move.” Higgs clenches his hands, rocking with the rough rhythm and the waves of pleasure. He doesn’t bother to be quiet, never fucking does. 

The tentacle still wound around his waist and bloated belly moves to where it’s laid across his aching cock. It’s  _ heaven _ , pure bliss. He clenches his legs together, angles his hips with the thrusts. He’s gonna cum soon. 

He squeezes around the tentacles with the clenches of his gut. Pleasure rolls through him, underlined by the uncomfortableness of being ill-prepared and filled so damn  _ much _ . All the tentacles continuously pour tar into him, filling him further, further still. His stomach fills out more. Higgs bites his lip until he tastes sharp copper. He moans, stuttered by the momentum of the thrusts. More tentacles appear. They paint his skin, what little that’s been barred, and the uniform with tar. Another goes into both holes. He can’t  _ take _ much more of this… Higgs’ eyes roll back as they force their way in, grating against each other. He can feel them coiling around each other, filling him in all the best ways. His thighs tense as pressure builds inside him. Shit… fuck

His mind is nearly empty as he’s fucked, completely occupied by the overwhelming pleasure running through him. He knows it isn’t possible, but he wants to be impregnated by the tentacles, filled till he’s about to burst. It already  _ feels _ like that, really; it’s  _ uncomfortable _ . He still finds great pleasure in it. Like the humiliation, the odd nature of getting fucked by the dead in tentacle form, filling him turns to pleasure. 

He sinks into the puddle of tar under him. They aren’t trying to pull him under, but it feels more akin to rocking with the waves of the rivers. Higgs sees his stomach, distended beneath the uniform, pressed so tightly against the belt around his waist. 

Wet noises filled the humid air. Both generated from the tentacles and his own slick. Each thrust sends his belly jostling, feeling the sloshing tar inside. 

Cusses fall from Higgs’ mouth as he drools. He’s so close—  _ so close _ . His cock throbs, still suffocated by the tentacle around him. That too slides wetly across him, tangled in the others in him. He’s not even being  _ filled _ that much anymore, he’s so fucking full. The tar that leaks from the tentacles just flows back out of him, covering him in the fluid and dirtying the sweat-slick skin under his ruined uniform. 

Each thrust sends currents of pleasure through him and forces pulses of tar out of him. The rocking motion slips streams of moans and cursed out of him. The uniform that suddenly feels  _ stifling _ . So hot he might as well be burning up. It feels the same for all the tentacles on him. Even with the thick material of the uniform, the tentacles bounding him are  _ scalding _ . It’s even worse for the ones in him, touching his bare skin. Higgs thinks he might actually be on fire. 

All too soon, Higgs’ eyes roll back again. A garbled moan tears itself from his throat. His orgasm runs over him like a stampede. Clenches him so painfully tight the tentacles completely halt their movement, still tugging and pulling, trying to fuck him further. His legs tremble and shake till the tentacles around him think he’s still trying to escape. 

He falls back into the tentacles with a splat and a sigh, feeling disgusted with how soaked through-and-through with tar he is. He pants raggedly, the timefall not letting up. The tentacles stay in him, blessedly. He stays full and so very  _ filled _ . He goes to wipe his brow is sweat but can’t move his arm still. 

He tugs again. 

They tighten his loosened hold on him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was spurred on by discord 😘 kudos to y’all


	4. Higgs/tentacles emeto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short one to make up for not uploading the fic this week. Next week tho! This is some 700 words that I didn’t want to spend much time on
> 
> Tags: tentacles, puke, tar, suicide(?)/death ideation (but ~sexy~ as Higgs uses death to get fucked more), deepthroating. Did i mention tentacles? uhh being addicted to chiralium, vaguely all the way through because cmon... inflation. Yknow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really hoping to do more emeto because oh no... Higgs made me realize that maybe I have a puke kink... maybe a bit

Higgs swallows thickly. His body rocks with the thrusts if the tentacles behind him. He’s so  _ full _ . His stomach sloshes noisily as his knees slide on the tar below him. 

His moan turns ragged as he closes off his throat again. The tentacle that has been filling his stomach slaps against his face. He almost wishes it was still lodged down his throat. His throat spasms again, his stomach flipping. 

Shit shit shit—

Pleasure floods his mind and body. His elbows buckle and he falls down to a forearm. It was the worst possible moment as Higgs is proved to be  _ too _ full. He goes to cover his mouth as tar and what-else fills his throat and mouth. It’s  _ so thick, _ how it even got in him is a miracle. What does exit through his mouth in the first pulse tracks down his chin and neck. Thick rivulets slop out of his nose and between his teeth and gums. He chokes out another mouthful, trying his damn best not to swallow it back up by reflex. Higgs nearly inhales the tar. He coughs, and can’t  _ stop— _

Higgs’ back curves. The noise that comes out of his mouth rivels the noises from his ass in terms of… he doesn't  _ know _ . He cusses loudly, spasming. He’s impossibly hard. 

He barely even knows  _ why _ . The bunch of tentacles in his ass aren’t— it’s barely pleasurable. He’s just a  _ hole _ for them to fuck. And for what, can they even feel? What’s the fucking point?

Higgs drags his fingers in the tar. He’s thrusted up inches, or would be if his hips and legs weren’t in a bruising grip of tentacles. They aim him however they please, getting deeper and  _ deeper _ in him till— until it’s fucking unrealistic.  _ Impossible _ . He can literally feel them in his  _ stomach _ .  _ What the fuck.  _

The tar that coats his lips and chin dry out his skin; feels like he’s turning to stone. He’d worry about it but he knows the tar like the back of his tattooed hand. Higgs grinds his teeth together. Something in the tar— either pure chiralium or something he’d already eaten— crunches between his teeth. Like grains of sand. They’re in the world of the living. He swallows thickly. The thick tar passively drips out of his nose, further dirtying his face. Higgs’ cheeks are stained with black tear tracks. Only drips of sweat carve through the mess, reveal his flushed but pale skin beneath. 

It feels like he has to pry his jaws open when he moans next, the tar sticking, drying like glue. His tongue is plastered to the roof of his mouth, filling in the groves of his pallet. Fills the place beneath his tongue. His stomach flips again. He turns his head to the tentacle smothered against his cheek and licks a long, flat-tongued strip from it. 

The rancid flavor is what makes him gag again. Higgs can’t  _ fucking _ stand the taste. But something about— maybe it’s the chiralium. His guts, everything inside him, even his fucking hands and face  _ sing _ . Thrum and pulse with— with  _ good _ . No other words come to his fucked-out mind.  _ Good, good, fuck. So good. More— _ he grinds his hands through the tar, down to the ragged concrete below. Rubs and grated until the skin on his hands and forearms and elbows break, until there are abrasions. Feels the sharp pain as it comes into contact with the tar, so very mixed with chiral matter. Feels it mix with his blood, seep into his bloodstream. 

Thankfully, god  _ thankfully _ , the tentacle slides down his throat. It’s big and there’s no way he can breath with it lodged in his esophagus. He’s done this tango before though, knows it quite well. Nonetheless, he wants it bigger, to really have to  _ jam _ itself down his throat until he breaks.  _ Breaks _ and he  _ dies _ so the tentacles can further slide into him. It’s always easier that way. 

The tentacle goes as deep as it can, which is naturally into his already stuffed belly. It leaks tar like a fountain. Pours out of his mouth and nose, further into his stomach now that it’s emptier. He’s filled back up quickly. 

This is where Higgs feels most full. Most relaxed. Holes stuffed impossibly full. 


	5. Higgs/Cliff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked for rough tentacles, orgasm denial, a bit more 
> 
> Tags/warnings etc:  
> Obvious tentacles, extremely dubious consent, orgasm denial, reluctant pleasure, Higgs being frustrated and having a kinda bad time, yknow. The usual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing has been very difficult for me lately, but painting traditionally has... not been. It’s basically the opposite of what I want but I’m working with that I have now

Usually, Cliff used his umbilical cords to fuck him. 

“ _ Usually _ ” being all of two times. 

Today, he’s elected to use tentacles spawned from the depths of the tar he’s always tracking in. They’re thick. And  _ strong _ . 

And Higgs doesn’t trust them. 

He glares at the soldier when his arms are forced behind his back, because in  _ no way _ does this lead somewhere good. It doesn’t even look like Cliff is controlling them. He’s reclined on a chair he’s pulled from  _ who-the-fuck-knows _ , legs kicked out and arms crossed. He’s absentmindedly puffing away at a cigarette. 

“You wanna help me here?” He asks a little meanly. The tentacles tug down his pants after unclasping his belt and hold his legs apart. They track over his pale, bare legs; stain his skin with thick tar. No matter how slick they are, he can’t wiggle free. 

The cigarette bobs when Cliff purses his lips. “No.” He says,  _ absolutely _ infuriatingly, “I don’t think I do.”

He feels a tentacle slide up his leg. It’s  _ cold _ . “So you’re— you’re just gonna  _ watch _ , huh?”

A curt nod. 

Higgs growls out a groan and turns his face into the ground. He’s  _ tired _ of this old fuck and his  _ pointless tricks _ . Isn’t he bored of Higgs already? He  _ knows _ Cliff has something better to do. 

The tentacle thrusts into him so suddenly— so wetly. It pulls a cry from Higgs before he can stop himself. It  _ hurts _ , it’s not even that big. The tentacle is so  _ fucking _ cold. Higgs’ spasms around the intrusion, leg kicking out reflexively. 

Higgs doesn’t see the ghost of a smile on Cliff’s face through his tears. He  _ does _ see Cliff’s boot tick upward just as the tentacle inside him lurches to life and begins thrusting. 

_ Fuck… _ Higgs can’t deny it feels good. Even through the pain— which never bothers him in the  _ right mood _ — the tentacle presses against where he’s most sensitive. He lets out little noises, entirely because he can’t  _ stop _ . 

He only notices he’s hard when another tentacle forces its way into Higgs’ hole. It’s bigger than the other one and despite the slick tar, it struggles to wiggle its way in. Higgs groans open-mouthed, legs tensing with the pain. He tells himself to stay relaxed, knowing full well that it’ll make this  _ so _ much worse. 

His shoulders hunch, already cramping at the uncomfortable position. The tentacles thrust wildly, coiling around each other and trying to find out how to make Higgs mewl the loudest. 

Not that that’s hard— at  _ all _ . He’s so hard he’s leaking. His cock bobs in rhythm with the thrusts. His abdomen clenched when a tentacle presses incessantly at his prostate. 

He swallows around a wail, breath stuttering out. He can feel Cliff’s gaze boring into him. Can smell the smoke of his cigarette. The  _ satisfaction _ of watching Higgs like this. His face burns with shame. 

Higgs can’t say he’s known for his stamina, but his face flushes more when he realizes how close he is. He whimpers and clenches his eyes shut and bites his lip. His back arches as the tentacles thrust deep into him and…

A tentacle, smaller than the first, wraps around his cock and the tentacles inside him stop moving, still inside him so deep. Higgs blinks his eyes open, tears tracking down his face. “W—what?”

Cliff almost sounds bored. “What, you thought I was going to let you off that easy?”

He blinks sweat from his eyes, trying to figure out whether he was still alive or some sick fuck was messin with him. 

Well. He supposes  _ both _ . 

His denied orgasm is still roiling in his gut, a constant, almost  _ nice _ pressure lingering between his legs. His shoulders ache. 

The tendril is still around his cock,  _ tight _ , when the ones in his ass pull out wetly. A stream of tar flows out of him until they thrust back in. It’s hard enough that the tentacles holding his limbs grip harder. He feels the lack of blood flow, the way his fingertips tingle, bruises forming on his legs. 

The pace is hard and  _ unforgiving _ . Higgs would think that Cliff was  _ using _ him to destress, but with such a content, satisfied face—

His legs tremble like a leaf in the wind as he gets close again. At this rate, even the tendril around his cock won’t stop him from cumming. 

He clenches his fists as the tentacles slow again. They’re basically just pouring tar into him, thickly dripping out of his filled hole, caking his thighs. They thrust deep, coiling around each other and squelching with every movement. 

The other tentacles trace along his bare skin, the few places where that is. Higgs moans with the thrusts, vocalizations forcing their way out with the repetitive movements, trying to stop his hips from moving on their own. He arches his back, mouth opening to let out a dirty moan. 

He mindlessly sticks his tongue out to lick along a tentacle sliding against his face, dirtying his lips. 

He notices tears streaming from his eyes when Cliff chuckles. “Please,” Higgs groans, hoarsely. The coil of an impending orgasm almost hurts now. “Let me cum,”

Cliff’s pondering hum is deep. Gravelly. It looks like the cigarette hasn’t even burnt away at all, despite lighting up the sharp features of his face. 

Cliff’s fingers tap on the armrests of his chair. He looks… unimpressed. 

“I don’t think you deserve it.”

Higgs holds his breath to stop a sob. He clenches his eyes shut, dirty tears further dirtying his face. He bares his teeth, straining against his bonds. He can barely move an inch. 

The tendril around his cock is restless, but never gives him a full stroke. It’s painfully tight against him, certainly staving off his release. What little friction made from the small movements, not slicked by the tar is  _ heavenly _ . It brings him that much closer to cumming, a hair's breadth away. 

Cliff’s responding chuckle burns against Higgs’ ears. The tendril near his face coils around his neck, gripping his cheeks to force his face towards Cliff. He knows he must look disheveled, black tears and tar over his cheeks, lips reddened from biting… it’s confirmed when Cliff smirks. 

He’d almost forgotten the tentacles in his ass,  _ so full _ , still  _ so cold. _ When he flexes his thighs, he feels how the tar has plastered the insides of his pale thighs. The tentacles thrust hard into him, rhythm speeding up so  _ fast— _ pressing against his walls, pushing out as if they were trying to  _ gut _ him. 

He wails brokenly. He’s on the brink of cumming, just  _ right there _ — he’s so  _ close— _

Suddenly, everything  _ stops _ . Or— disappears. Higgs opens his eyes, finds everything— Cliff, the tentacles—  _ gone _ . He’s back in his bunk, still partially undressed, covered in tar, still so hard. Unfathomably angry. 

He  _ screams _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is Higgs-the-god. I rant about Higgs a lot


	6. Sam/Mama pegging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yknow. I meant for these fics to be nasty... they’re mostly just normally porny... oh well
> 
> Tags: enthusiastic consent, pegging, a bit of fluff, nothing too harsh at all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again... I wish this was longer, but I know that it’d just sit in my drafts for ages if I tried :,) enjoy anyway! This was so fun to write. Barely anyone writes Mama (let alone nsfw stuff of her??) so I guess I’ll give myself another job in this fandom lmao

“Is this really necessary?” Sam asks, gingerly laying down on the pile of blankets and pillows on the floor. He’s only got his pants and undershirt on. Mama said she wanted to  _ test _ Sam. Going by  _ the look  _ in her eyes and the…  _ equipment _ she then pulled out, Sam could easily guess what. 

“Sure it is, Sam.” Målingen answers, leaning over Sam to tie his hands to a post, unlocking his cuffs to chain him.  _ Not a prisoner, my ass, _ Sam thought. 

“You uhh… mind explaining?” He ignores the way his skin turns red, even with her inches away from him. His next exhale is shaky. 

The cuffs click shut far too loud around his left wrist. Sam starts to sweat; Målingen said he could stop whenever he wanted, he even believes her…

Mama hums. “Nah,” she says with a smile— she looks awfully tired, Sam thinks— “but, it’ll be fun. I’ll make sure of it.”

Sam barely manages to hum in acknowledgement. It’s embarrassing how he can feel himself getting hard, even just seeing her attach the strap-on to her pelvis, buckles clinking together. The dildo, frighteningly big to Sam, is a nice smooth blue. Mama is kneeling between Sam’s legs and takes her time tugging off his pants until he’s left in gray boxer-briefs. 

“Close your eyes, Sam.”

He does, almost begrudgingly. Then he flinches, leg twitching hard when something cold— Mama’s hand— lands on his thigh. He hisses at the initial shock but… other than goosebumps, there’s no mark forming. He itches to move away, expecting the pain, the tightening muscles from a  _ whole hand _ placed on his thigh but—

Another shaky sigh.  _ It doesn’t hurt.  _

“Well, that’s a good start, I’d say. You mind if I take off your underwear?”

Sam stares at the hand still firmly planted on his thigh. Nothing, she’s just cold. No red stencil or hives…

“No, uhh— I don’t mind.” He says, swallowing thickly.  _ There’s nothing _ repeating in his mind. 

The soft fabric of his underwear is burning friction against his legs. Despite the fact that Mama doesn’t leave any marks, she’s still careful about trying not to touch Sam… until she feels along Sam’s thigh, the still-tense muscles he’s built up. She very gently squeezes him. 

It looks like she wants to say something, but she stops herself when she sees his dick. 

He’s… well, he knows he’s not  _ small— _ his late wife wasn’t shy about letting him know. He’s half hard, just starting to leak against his undershirt. The base is lightly encased in wiry hairs, a vein along the underside. 

Sam looks away from Mama’s face. 

“You look good, Sam; you know that?”

His face  _ burns _ in embarrassment. He starts to sweat more. They haven’t even  _ started _ . He grunts in acknowledgement. 

The loud opening of the bottle of lube draws his attention, but when he sees Mama slicking her fingers in lube, he can’t help but look away again. 

She puts a still-cold hand on his leg, lifts it up to lay against her shoulder. It’s almost comical how she almost seems dwarfed. “We can stop whenever you want, don’t forget.”

“I— won’t.” He says, faltering when he feels a wet finger press against his asshole. It’s been years since he’s had proper, two-person sex. Longer—much — since  _ he _ was the one penetrated. Aphenphosmphobia will do that to someone. 

He holds his breath when the first finger slides in. The lube is—  _ too _ slick. Mama’s finger slides in too easy, he thinks. Sam forces himself to breath, to relax, to uncurl from himself. His cuffs clink loudly when he proves to be restless. Mama rubs his balls, cups them in her hand to give her other hand more space, rubs her thumb against his taint. 

Sam doesn’t know where to look. Staring at her face is too— too much of  _ something _ , makes him all that more overwhelmed; staring down where she’s fingering him is just embarrassing. Some nagging voice in the back of his mind tells him that he shouldn’t be the one getting fingered. 

Two fingers is a stretch, the growing feeling of being full sinking into his belly. He groans, low and rumbling, closing his eyes and closing his hands into fists just as tight. It’s— not bad. Målingen seems to know what she’s doing. Sam doesn’t know what to do with the thought of her doing this to some  _ other _ sorry fuck, what with the apparent two brain cells bouncing around in his head. 

More lube. Another cold-getting-warmer finger; three now. Sam’s cock twitches against his belly. He tries not to think about fucking Mama. Instead, he focuses on how she’s fingering him— scissoring her fingers, thrusting them against a spot that feels maybe  _ too _ good. Tiny, slick noises accompany Sam’s own gasps, noises he can’t seem to stop making. Mama plays him like an instrument, far too caring but knowing so well how to press his buttons, in a completely unmean way. 

No, she was just making him feel good. That’s what this was about, so they could relax. 

He moans, far louder than he means, and the cuffs rattle again when he goes to cover his face. Instead, he bends his arms over his face, hoping he obstructs the way his blush is traveling down his neck now. If Mama notices, she doesn’t say anything. Her touches grow soft for a moment. As if to soothe him. 

Her fingers slide out of him, giving him one last scissoring stretch. “You think you’re ready, Sam?”

_ Not really, _ “...yeah.”

Mama puts a soft pillow under his hips, then a towel under the both of them. He hopes her knees don’t start aching. 

She pours lube over the blue dildo attached to her, and then makes sure he’s also  _ generously _ slick. It’s obscene, Sam never thought he’d be in this position, on the ground about to be fucked by a pretty woman with a blue dildo. 

A hand on his hip. 

“Breath, Sam.”

He does. 

He has to remind himself to  _ keep _ breathing when she slides in. It’s so much  _ more— _ more suffocating, stuffing, feeling full to the brim. But the copious amounts of lube did it’s job, there’s only a low thrum of pain below how stuffed he feels. The toy isn’t even that big, but it sure as hell  _ feels _ like it. Feels like it’s boring a hole in him, filling him to the brim. 

He chokes out a sob, but doesn’t tell Målingen to stop. 

He only realizes he’s been crying when she wipes away a tear. It doesn’t hurt, honest, it’s just a lot. He bites his lip and just barely stops himself from leaning into her touch. 

His leg is still slung over her shoulder, and his muscles tense, almost cramp, when she hilts in Sam’s ass. It punches some raw noise out of him. And then another, when she pulls out— so easily, even with how Sam clenches around the toy— and subsequently slides back in. His toes curl. It feels  _ good _ . 

One hand on his raised knee, the other on his thigh, she begins a slow but rough pace. Enough that it keeps Sam from thinking, but not to overtax him. Mama’s hand is warm now, Sam’s thankful, when she wraps her fingers around his flushed cock. He tenses into himself, natural urges expecting pain, but nothing comes. Her touch barely quells the growing need inside him, the way his abdomen clenches and a coil tightens beneath his skin. 

Mama’s breathing is labored with exertion, hips pumping smoothly into him. She jacks him off along with her thrusts, speeding him towards an end all too soon. Sam closes his mouth, bites his lip but his breathing is harsh too— pleasure wracking his brain, his lungs stuttering— so he keeps his lips parted, heavy puffs and low grunts pouring their way out. His eyelids flutter, eyes rolling in their sockets. 

Målingen lifts his hips up,  _ just _ so, and he—

“Mama—“ he gasps, back arching as a jolt of pleasure courses through him. 

“I know, Sam, it’s okay.” She huffs, looking so serenely at him, “let go for a moment, can’t you?” His wrists ache where the cuffs grind against him, wearing at the skin. His thighs tremble in Mama’s grasp. How can he  _ let go  _ when she’s fogging his mind like this— overcome with pleasure, able to feel it with no pain or adverse reaction to being touched skin to skin. 

The hand around his cock squeezes, just a bit, and it’s enough. 

There are more tears in his eyes when he cums, eyes locked with Målingen, unable to look away even as he trembles like never before. 

She pumps his cock through the pulses, keeps thrusting her hips as stripes of thick cum ejects from his cock, drips down to dirty Mama’s hand. For a moment, Mama herself looks so pleased, eyes half lidded and mouth parted just so, her cheeks and lips reddened. 

Sam twists his hips and tenses his legs when her movements become too much after a moment. She carefully pulls out of him, cooing at him when he grunts from the actions. She lays a hand on his clothed chest, slides it down to his heaving belly, narrowly avoiding the rapidly drying jizz. 

“You liked that, I take it?

Sam closes his eyes and grunts out a chuckle, unable to help himself. “See for yourself… was it… as satisfying for you too…?” He asks awkwardly. 

The responding smile could probably get him the rest of the way across America, Sam thinks. Bright like the sun, showing white teeth beneath, eyes narrowing. It looks like she doesn’t smile much. “I enjoyed it  _ very much _ , in fact.”

She snaps her fingers and Sam’s cuffs unlock as she gets up. He sits up, though his ass feels sore over the towel, and slots the cuff back onto one wrist. Mama comes back, clean herself, without the strap-on, with a wet hand towel and tries her best to clean his shirt. At least it’ll be under his porter uniform. Next, she hands him a cup of water. He can’t remember the last time he’s drunk  _ normal water.  _ He thanks her quietly. 

“I do hope we can do this again, Sam. Maybe we can get over your aphenphosmphobia like this, yeah? It seems like a benefit to both of us.”

Sam sets the empty cup down. His face heats up at the thought of next time. 

“I don’t… see why not…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments much appreciated!! I still take requests either here or on my tumblr

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway my tumblr is Higgs-the-god hear me talk about Higgs being split open by tentacles
> 
> Leave a kudos or comment if you’ve made it this far :D


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